


been a minute since i had something so sweet

by singsongsung



Series: keep speaking my love language [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Gratuitous use of song lyrics, Inspired by an Ariana Grande Song, Post-Canon, Twyla Sands' Freckles, alexis flirts with makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsongsung/pseuds/singsongsung
Summary: “Alexis! Hey!” Twyla says warmly, as the door closes slowly behind her. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a little bit of frizz at the edges of her hair from when she ran over to the café to get more champagne. “I was wondering where you went.”A missing moment from a wedding reception.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands
Series: keep speaking my love language [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992451
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	been a minute since i had something so sweet

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to ariana grande for dropping an album today with some a+ twylexis bops, and to doingthemost for convincing me to write this!

The Beach Boys are crooning - _you never need to doubt it, I’ll make you so sure about it_ \- when Alexis slips out of the coupled-up crowd on the makeshift dance floor in the town hall. David and Patrick are thoroughly wrapped up in each other; there’s no way she’ll be missed.

The town hall bathroom leaves a lot to be desired. There’s a crack in one of the mirrors, the soap dispensers are ancient, and even though the floor has probably recently been cleaned, it looks like it hasn’t been mopped in about a decade. Someone’s made an effort, though: there’s a bouquet of white tulips in a mason jar between the sinks, and a little basket filled with emergency supplies, safety pins and tissues and acetaminophen.

Alexis pulls a tube of mascara out of her clutch and leans toward the uncracked mirror to touch up her lashes. Her heart feels full to bursting, and it has for hours now, ever since her brother told her that she impresses him and they walked down the aisle together toward Patrick’s sweet little button face. Alexis knows, just _knows_ , the way only a sister can know, that David’s found his forever person.

Every once in a while, though, her heart contracts again, balls up tight and aching - not for long, just for a minute, but it’s enough to make her eyes sting if she dwells on it. She’s happy, she really is. She’s proud of herself and proud of her choices and proud of the future she knows she can build. But that doesn’t mean that she looks at herself in her white gown, which was delivered to her door in a box that also included a tulle headdress, and doesn’t feel the slightest prick of loss. Alexis has so much, but no one to sing that marveling statement to: _god only knows what I’d be without you._

The bathroom door swings open, and Alexis blinks rapidly, pulling up a thousand-watt smile; she’s _basically_ David’s second maid of honour, so it’s important that she communicate cheer to all the guests.

“Alexis! Hey!” Twyla says warmly, as the door closes slowly behind her. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a little bit of frizz at the edges of her hair from when she ran over to the café to get more champagne. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Hey, Twy,” Alexis says, her purposeful smile melting into something softer and more natural. Twyla looks great in her dress - maybe even better than Alexis looked in it, back when it belonged to her, Twyla’s small, cute shoulders accentuated by the tied sleeves and some tasteful cleavage displayed by the V-cut of the neck. Alexis’ eyes drift to the freckles beneath Twyla’s collarbones, the way they’re dusted over her skin as closely as they are at the high points of her cheeks.

She holds the tube in her hand out toward Twyla. “Mascara?”

“No, thanks, I think I’m okay,” Twyla says, setting her empty champagne flute down on the counter and turning toward the mirror. She touches her bottom lip with the tip of her middle finger and laughs. “I lost all my lipstick, though.”

“I have gloss,” Alexis says, rifling in her clutch. The song has changed; they’ve moved on to Beyoncé, whose entire catalogue she’s pretty David insisted be included on the reception playlist. _I can feel the sun whenever you’re near,_ Beyoncé sings, and Alexis feels her smile curl its way deeper into the corners of her mouth as she looks at Twyla’s bright face. She tucks her fingertips beneath Twyla’s chin for stability and instructs, “Open your mouth just a little.”

Twyla obeys, her lips parting, and Alexis applies gloss to her lips with careful precision. “ _There_ ,” she says when she’s done, sticking the wand back into the tube of gloss with a flourish before tossing it back into her clutch.

Twyla smacks her lips together lightly and says, “Thanks, Lex.”

“Of course, babe,” Alexis says breezily. No one’s really called her _Lex_ since Ted - and before that, a slew of friends who weren’t really friends - so the nickname feels weighed down with some baggage, but she likes it when Twyla says it. It sounds so light, and easy, and warm. “You look beautiful,” she adds. “This dress looks amazing on you.”

With a glance down at herself, Twyla says, simply and just a little shyly, “It was a gift.”

“It was made for you,” Alexis tells her decisively. “And I love what you’ve done with your hair. You should wear it down more.”

“It doesn’t always make sense to,” Twyla says. “At work, I mean.”

“Hm,” Alexis murmurs, a small sound of acknowledgment. Twyla’s necklace has twisted itself around her neck a little, so Alexis reaches for it to adjust the chain and center the pendant once again. Twyla’s chest rises under her touch, freckled skin pressing into Alexis’ fingers, a quick intake of breath that she doesn’t release until Alexis has settled the pendant where it belongs, against Twyla’s breastbone.

“You,” Twyla says, and then stops. Outside the washroom, the song has changed again: _when you call my name, it’s like a little prayer._ Twyla blows out her breath, and they’re close enough that Alexis can feel it, Twyla’s breath toying with the ends of her hair. “You look beautiful, too,” Twyla says, her voice quiet. “You always look really beautiful.”

 _You’re so sweet, babe_ is on the tip of Alexis’ tongue, but the words don’t make it out of her mouth. Twyla’s fingers brush against the silky fabric of her dress, and Alexis feels overwhelmed by the depth of her green eyes - eyes that have sparkled at her, teasing, across a counter; eyes that looked at her so earnestly as Twyla handed her a cheque; eyes that have always met hers so steadily and sweetly, just like they are right now.

When Alexis leans in, Twyla sucks in her breath again. Alexis’ eyes dart up to meet hers, a quick check-in, and as Twyla exhales, a faintly disbelieving smile appears on the mouth Alexis kisses half a second later. Twyla’s lips are almost impossibly soft, and she tastes like the melon flavour of Alexis’ lip gloss and white wine and something else sweet that Alexis has just discovered and is already craving. She cradles Twyla’s cheek in her palm, the tips of her fingers sliding into Twyla’s hair just behind her ear. Twyla’s hands have settled on Alexis’ waist, her hold light at first before her fingers start to dig in a little. It makes Alexis’ heart flutter, her stomach clench, and she nips Twyla’s lower lip.

Twyla makes a surprised noise in her throat in response, a noise that sounds almost needy, that has Alexis thinking, _oh my god_. And then it’s her turn to be surprised, because Twyla is rising onto her toes, and her hips are pressing into Alexis’, and she’s backing Alexis up right into the wall next to the paper-towel dispenser, and her hands are on Alexis’ face and in Alexis’ hair and she’s shifting the angle of their mouths, kissing Alexis more deeply.

One of Alexis’ arms curls around Twyla’s waist, her hand pressing into Twyla’s back, and the thumb of her other hand slips beneath Twyla’s knotted sleeve, stroking over her skin. She’s getting lost in Twyla’s mouth - in _Twyla_ , period - when the door to the washroom swings open again.

They pull apart instinctively, and over Twyla’s shoulder, Alexis stares at Gwen, who’s staring back at her. There’s a heavy, lingering pause, Twyla’s fingers curling into Alexis’ skirt as she turns to look toward the door, and then Gwen just says, “ _Well_ ,” and leaves again.

A startled laugh spills out of Alexis’ mouth. Twyla looks at her for a beat, eyes wide and mouth thoroughly kissed, before she starts laughing, too, her giggles muted as she presses her face, just for an instant, against Alexis’ clavicle.

“I should - ” Alexis swallows down another burst of laughter that threatens to break free, and gently smooths out Twyla’s hair, tucking strands back behind Twyla’s ear. “It’s - it’s David’s wedding, I should be… ”

“Yeah,” Twyla says, nodding. She lets go of Alexis’ skirt and runs her hand over the fabric as if ironing it out. “Yeah, you should.”

Alexis touches the corner of Twyla’s mouth. “Your gloss - ”

Twyla reaches up and removes Alexis’ hand, taking it in her own, slowly weaving their fingers together. “Lex,” she says, with that forthright honesty of hers, her gloss-free mouth forming a slow, brilliant smile. “I don’t care.”

Alexis can’t help but smile back at her. She reaches for her clutch with her free hand and glances quickly at the mirror, fluffing her hair and removing a smudge of lipstick from above her mouth. “Dance with me?” she asks, and Twyla nods as Alexis tugs her back out to the reception, where the song has changed yet again: _where’s that higher love I keep thinking of?_


End file.
